Feet In Your Shoes
by sora-chigau
Summary: --AkuRoku-- You never know what will become of you in New York City....


_**Disclaimer:** I own nothing._

_**Pairing:** AkuRoku _

_**A/N: **This was a creative writing assignment I turned in….._

_**Challenge:** The story must involve some boots or shoes at the end. . - Creative Writing Topic Generator_

* * *

**FEET IN YOUR SHOES**. You never know what will become of you in New York City. The stranger you happen to meet could be a killer, your new best friend, a lover, a soul mate, or your long lost twin. The stranger I met was really none of those.

I was walking down 18th street and was just passing the epicenter when this big guy passes me on the sidewalk. He was hurrying and bumped me into another guy who was bending over shining shoes. It's New York after all. I tripped over him and fell on my ass right on the concrete. On top of that, my briefcase sprung open and the contents exploded out over the road. And just because it could happen, a car went by coating the only copy of my twenty-six-page essay in mud. Great. I'm so fired.

The shoe-shiner looked up at me, about to say something, but I intervened and apologized before I could get an earful. I had just gotten off work at the business and I really didn't need to hear another lecture on top of my boss's "you're-a-good-for-nothing-talent less-imbecile-disgrace" speech.

The man the shoe-shiner was working with got up and left after laughing at me until his face got red. But thanks to karma, he tripped on his shoe lace and spilled his coffee on his pants. He grumbled and walked off after calling me an obscene name. Got to love the friendliness in this city.

Mr. Shoe-shiner stood up. He was much taller than me and I felt sort of intimidated. I am not a very big man and I was still sprawled across the sidewalk probably sitting in gum. I looked up at him, his green eyes looking down at me with laughing curiosity. He bent down and I thought he was going to mug me so I got all freaked out; but in reality he just offered me his hand and quickly pulled me to my feet.

"Are you alright?" He asked.

I nodded, dusting myself off and internally panicking about the suit I just ruined and how much money it will take to bribe Naminé into fixing it back up.

"The name's Axel. People call me Ace, but don't call me that. If you got some time I would like to make it up to you for ruining your papers…" The shoe-shiner said, giving his best business-man smile.

We both looked simultaneously at the street and at my crinkled and quickly-disintegrating papers. Another car ran over them. And then another.

"It's fine really…it was only…my…chance at…a promotion." I said, wincing.

Before I could object, Axel pushed me into the chair the man who laughed at me had previously sat in.

"Really, it's fine…you don't have to….I should be…" I started to stutter and my voice was too quiet for him to hear.

"What's your name, slick? Where ya work?"

I'm not too big on giving out personal information to strangers. I mean, think of how many pedophiles and stalkers and rapists and murderers and bashers… and lawyers there are. I just told him something vague.

"Roxas. I work for the _New Yorker _"

"Don't we all." He said.

I laughed.

"Roxas huh? I'm a big fan of your work actually." Axel said after a few minutes.

"Really?"

"No."

Way to kill a man's spirit. Axel must have noticed my expression because he tacked on,

"I mean, I would be a fan, 'cept I can't afford the damn thing." He smiled up at me and switched to shining my left shoe.

I smiled back and rolled my eyes.

"So how's a young guy like you get a job so high up so quickly? Sleeping with coworkers?" Axel asked.

My face turned red. This guy really knew how to make you feel like shit.

"My dad's the boss."

"That's incest, Roxas." He said, teasing.

He finished with my shoes but didn't stand up. I fished some money from my pocket. When I tried to hand it to him he refused. Smoothly though, he looked at his watch.

"Its about time I pack up anyway. How's about you treat us to dinner, slick? There's a restaurant right up the street." Axel's green eyes were shinning.

I glanced down at my watch, at my papers-now muddy nothings in the road- and back at Axel.

"Why not?" I said.

We ended up going to this Venezuelan restaurant, El Cocotero. The bill was 45 dollars, which isn't that expensive when you remember it's New York.

All through dinner Axel and I kept talking. It was more like a battle of witticism, politics, sarcasm, aesthetics and who was more insane: Brittney Spears or Lindsey Lohan? I can honestly say it was the most…interesting dinner I ever had. Especially because the waiter was a friend of Axel's who kept hitting on me. Awkward.

It turns out that Axel is actually quite the intellect. He was a "starving artist" as he called himself. I could believe that by the way he ate, and how thin he was. I was half a year younger than him, and half a foot shorter.

We got into a discussion about the recent murder of Lawrence King, how America was doomed if Hannah Montana and Starbucks got together, and whether or not Rembrandt's _Return of the Prodigal Son _ was used as a subliminal message.

By the time we finished eating and talking it was nine o'clock and dark out. I didn't want to walk home alone. New York plus night plus being a somewhat effeminate man equals…well…something bad. I had visions of being mugged or getting cornered by one of those guys with the trench coats and fake Rolexes. Axel must have sensed my nervousness.

He had picked up that I was new to New York because I didn't have the harsh dog-eat-dog outlook, the accent and still had the cutesy paranoia of newbies. Whatever that means.

"It's kinda late, why don't I walk ya?" He said.

I agreed, breathed a sigh of relief.

The streets on 18th became alive at night. Nocturnal streetwalkers and partiers were everywhere you turned. People were winking, hooting, coughing, kissing, calling and lighting up in every direction. Music blared and the street lights cast their smoky golden glow on the rising clouds from the pavement. I walked faster.

Axel just laughed, easily keeping up with me.

When we reached my apartment, Axel stopped at the stoop. I turned around, half thinking he would have just followed me right inside.

"It was nice meeting you, Roxas." He said.

" Will I see you around any?" I asked.

Axel shrugged.

"Ya know where to find me. Shoes." He said, pointing to mine.

Axel began to walk away, and, being the smooth person I am, I walked right into the glass door. Axel turned around and burst into a fit of laughter. So did the door man. And an old hag on a bench. I ducked in before anyone could see how red my face was- only half of the redness was from hitting the glass.

When I got up to my room I sat on the edge of my bed to take off my shoes. A small piece of paper fell out and onto the floor. I picked it up and held it to the light.

_I could always use endorsements. Ha, kidding. -Axel _

On the bottom of my shoes, written in permanent ink, was Axel's phone number and studio address. I didn't know whether to be happy that New York isn't as dog-eat-dog as they say or be mad that he ruined my new 108 Banana Republic shoes.

**END.**

"You have brains in your head.

You have **feet in your shoes**.

You can steer yourself in any direction you choose.

You're on your own.  
And you know what you know.

You are the guy who'll decide where to go."

-Dr. Seuss


End file.
